First Night
by spikeswench
Summary: Rating change due to reader response. Anne and Gil, alone in their House Of Dreams.


Anne was nervous. She stared out of her window at the darkened world and realised that there was nothing left to do, no other possible delay. The welcoming guests had departed. She had placed her own clean bedding on the old bed in their house of dreams. She had changed from her travelling clothes and put them neatly away. She ran her hands over her nightdress and pinched her cheeks, hoping to restore some of the colour that had been there earlier in the day. He was waiting outside in the hall. He hadn't said he would, but she knew it just the same, almost as if she could feel him through the door. She frowned to herself and wished that she had thought to ask Diana or even Priscilla about -this- part of the wedding day! Rachel Lynde had given Anne a well-meaning little talk that morning, all about Marital Duties. How could something sound so vague and so grim at the same time! She could remember her hysterical desire to laugh when that admirable woman had concluded her speech with ' It's another cross to bear, but there's nothing we can do about it. Men have needs, that's what'  
  
That, and all the half-overheard conversations from the older married women of her acquaintance, led her to believe that she should be gritting her teeth and getting on with things. Then, of course she thought of Diana Wright's secret smiles, Pris' first letter after her marriage, full of sparkling nuance and subtle innuendo and a novel she had begun to read, before putting it aside after she realised it was rather *too* warm. Sparkling over this, like a ray of dancing sunshine, were her own memories of Gilbert's kisses, and first tentative caresses. Even the remembrance of them sparked a queer longing within her and brought a flush to her face that was not artificial.  
  
'Anne-girl?' came his voice softly from behind her, interrupting her reverie.  
  
'I thought you were in the hall' she said, marveling internally at how calm and low her voice had become.  
  
'I was' he responded, and she thought she heard a glimmer of laughter in his voice. 'I knocked but you didn't hear me'.  
  
'I was thinking about how beautiful the night is. as if God himself had blessed it for us' she told him, not entirely truthfully.  
  
He looked at her, silhouetted against the moonlight, her red hair softly glinting against her back. 'It's not as beautiful as you are Anne' and in his voice was all his passionate longing and the pride he felt that she, at last, was his.  
  
She turned to face him then, noticing that he had shed his waistcoat and that his feet, like hers, were bare.  
  
'Oh Gil', and there was a twinkle of merriment somewhere in her voice, 'I'm so glad we're married at last'.  
  
He chuckled in reply and said 'I should hope so. I've waited long enough for you, errant bride!' There was a pause as he began to regard her solemnly and when he finally spoke again there was no laugh in it at all, only passion. 'Come here'  
  
She moved across the floor towards him as if pulled on invisible strings, having at that moment no capacity to direct herself and no desire to be anywhere other than his embrace. Embrace they did, and kiss until she felt that they must be two halves of the same whole. They broke apart, flushed and breathing heavily, staring at each other with amazement. It was Anne who first found breath to speak.  
  
'Not such an errant bride, darling' she curled her mouth around the word with relish. 'After all, I'm here now!' and punctuated herself by running her hand over his chest in such a way that he thought himself liable to burst from the joy of it. He caught hold of the mischievous hand and pulled her towards him, engulfing her in the ocean of his need and enflaming them both with such passion that when they had reached the side of their bed, neither could remember shedding their garments.  
  
Nonetheless they had, and he laid her lithe form upon the bed with as much care as if she had been a delicate jewel encrusted treasure. Indeed, to him she was more precious than anything bought or sold in the history of the world. To her all the advice and cautions of those well meaning women were lost forever, washed away in a cleansing flood of love, trust and passion.  
  
The next morning Anne was wakened by the mischievous mid morning sun, peeping in at the window. She felt warm and realised it was because her husband had pressed himself against her in the night, enveloping her with his body. She crept from the bed, with the warmth of that first awakening still in her bones and donned the nightdress that had seen so little use the previous night. With great effort she resisted the urge to run her fingers through his hair and went to make him breakfast.  
  
Returning to the bedroom with laden tray, she took a secret wifely pleasure in waking him up by doing just that, brushing through his locks with her slender hand. She gave him his breakfast, and clambered in beside him to pilfer toast. They talked of inconsequential matters and he spoke about perhaps borrowing a boat from somebody and going for a row together that afternoon. After a while she interrupted him dreamily, in such a way that he knew she had not been attending to anything he said.  
  
' Do you know, Gil dear, I hope that all of our children have hair like yours'  
  
'Really?' he responded with an air of solemnity that would have been convincing but for the irrepressible twinkle in his eyes. 'I was hoping that at least one of our children would have hair the colour of carrots'  
  
And they erupted into laughter, which hung in the air long after they had ceased and remained forever a part of the atmosphere in their little house of dreams. 


End file.
